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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382716">Please Mr. Postman</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkyMickeyWay/pseuds/MilkyMickeyWay'>MilkyMickeyWay</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You’ve Got Mail [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, GW2020, Gallavich Week, Gallavich Week 2020, M/M, Mail Carrier, Meet-Cute, Postman - Freeform, Postman!Ian, post office</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 06:54:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,746</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25382716</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/MilkyMickeyWay/pseuds/MilkyMickeyWay</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Ian Gallagher has finally gotten a handle on his life and landed a job as the southside's postman. Along his morning route, he takes special interest in one particular house that holds a dark haired man.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Lip Gallagher/Tami Tamietti</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>You’ve Got Mail [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1855696</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>66</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Gallavich Week 2020</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Please Mr. Postman</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for Gallavich Week 2020. Song title comes from "Please Mr. Postman" from the Marvelettes.</p><p>Thank you @whaticameherefor for beta-ing for me &lt;3</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ian Gallagher was finally making it. He had barely been getting by working days at the Kash and Grab, which paid shit, while he attended night classes to get his GED, but he did it. He’d passed and landed a job at the post office as the official mail carrier for the southside.</p><p>He’d have benefits and a set schedule that would make managing his disorder easier, plus he was already a morning person so getting up to deliver mail at the crack of dawn didn’t seem all that bad. Maybe he could even work on finding his own place and finally stop sharing his childhood room with his siblings. It was kinda hard to bring a guy home when the bed wasn’t even long enough for Ian himself, let alone the fact that his two younger brothers shared the space didn’t make it any easier. Once, he’d tried out of sheer desperation and horniness but Liam stared the duo down until the mood was completely gone and the guy grumpily left. He didn’t exactly get a text asking about second date.</p><p>He’d been doing the job for a couple of months, just long enough to get the hang of it and learn some of his houses. An older lady on S Drake Avenue liked to knit on her porch, surrounded by windchimes. She always called out, “Morning, sweetie!” whenever Ian walked by. Her dog sometimes rushed off the porch to bark aggressively at Ian, but she would wave him off and promise Ian that he wasn’t mean before offering some tea. He didn’t quite believe her when he saw Fito’s teeth bare at him and was thankful for the gate that separated the pair.</p><p>Another house on St. Louis Avenue consisted of a husband and wife with their kids that Ian spotted around on the weekends. During the week it was just the wife and occasionally a completely different man who was clearly not her husband. Ian knew the signs well enough from being a hot young gay man who visited clubs that he could spot an adulterer from a mile away. The wife was pretty nice, but on the days she was completely alone she’d give him a wink and trail her hand up his arm if she happened to be outside and could look like she naturally didn’t just rush to the mailbox anticipating him.</p><p>There were some others, mostly typical nice people who nodded and waved and that sometimes even recognized him as that deadbeat Frank Gallagher’s son, but Trumbull street held a family that intrigued Ian the most. It seemed to be a single dad and his son. The dad was short, shorter than Ian, with silky dark hair, that Ian wanted to run his hands through, and a permanent sneer on his face. He had ink on his hands and lower arm, but Ian hadn’t been able to tell what exactly they were. The one nestled inside his arm looked skeleton-like but besides that he couldn’t tell from the distance he normally saw him from.</p><p>His son looked somewhere between Liam and Franny’s ages, with blonde hair that contrasted with his father’s and tiny little dimples. He always made a point to yell out to Ian, “Hey, Mr. Postman!”</p><p>He’d wave back as his dad would narrow his eyes at Ian instead, standoffish and clearly not aiming to make any matching effort to his son’s. Watching the pair of them daily as he opened their mailbox, stuffing in what usually appeared to be bills, warmed Ian’s heart. The man’s face broke the sullen look just for his son occasionally before transforming back as they tossed a football back and forth. The typical all American scene.</p><p>Ian had gotten into the habitat of learning street addresses instead of names but when he pulled up on Trumbull street he peeked to see if he could figure out his mystery man’s name. He flipped through the letters coming across a handful of names. He ruled out ‘Mandy’ for obvious reasons but the other names weren’t so easy. Terry? That could be a woman’s name too but the spelling tripped him up. Mickey? Like the mouse? Odd. Iggy? He could be an Iggy, Ian thought, but he still wasn’t convinced that was quite right either. The name Colin occasionally popped up too but the infrequency made Ian assume it wasn’t his.</p><p>He walked up to the gate, grabbing the handle before lowering it to place the mail inside when a voice squeaked as the front door swung open.</p><p>“Mr. Postman! Hi!”</p><p>The young boy came running out the house as he was placing the mail in. He closed the lid as he smiled before cheerfully greeting him.</p><p>“Did you have any mail for me? My mama is visiting Russia and promised to send me a letter!”</p><p>Sure, he was just a kid and probably wouldn’t have even given it a second thought if Ian just knew the names in the box, but he decided to act as if he wasn’t sure. Just in case, not like he was paranoid of anything.</p><p>He opened the box back out and flipped through the mail today. Mickey. Iggy. Iggy. Mandy. “What’s your name, kid?”</p><p>“Yev. Yevgeny Milkovich,” he sounded so proud as he declared his name. He’d never technically heard any of them talk except for Yevgeny so maybe they’d just moved to the country. Or maybe his mom was just extra proud of her heritage, since nobody’s first names matched how their last names sounded except for Yevgeny’s. His curiosity spiked, he was almost desperate to learn more about the family that interested him so much.</p><p>“Sorry, nothing with that name. I’ll make sure to let you know if I see it. Special delivery just for you.” Yev beamed as Ian gave him a friendly smile along with the promise. There wasn’t really much he could do outside just delivering the mail like normal but Yev seemed to think it was pretty special. “You want to take these in for your dad?”</p><p>He handed the stack to Yev as he stretched his arms up, happily ready to deliver the mail. He puffed out his chest, posing a bit before exclaiming, “I’m the postman today, thanks mister!”</p><p>Before Ian could even reply, Yev was darting up the stairs, swinging the door open and slamming it shut in an overly enthusiastic kid way that reminded Ian of his brother Carl more than anyone. He grinned at the familiarity of it.</p><p>**</p><p>A couple of uneventful days passed before Ian spotted a letter from a ‘Svetlana Milkovich’ to Yev. He always assumed the man was a single dad because he has never spotted a woman over, besides two tiny women that resembled him enough to indicate they were related, but Yev’s mom could have easily just worked during his route. Ian knew he didn’t exactly have enough evidence either way, but he felt discouraged anyway at the last name on the letter. Each new addition was another nail in the coffin telling him that his dream man was likely straight, taken, or both.</p><p>Ian pulled his mail carrier behind him along his route. Once he got within eyesight of 1955 S. Trumbull Avenue, he could see the figure that was Yev’s dad standing on his porch. The closer he got, as he slowly filled each mailbox up before moving on to the next, the more he could make out.</p><p>The dark haired man was standing there smoking, a sight Ian had seen before but this time the addition of the prized letter was an excuse for Ian to make small talk. He’d thought about it before but couldn’t come up with anything that seemed worth saying. Once he had built up the courage to ask, ‘how’s the weather?’ but only earned a grunt in return. That pretty much ruined any future attempt since Ian’s face quickly fell before he muttered something about walking in the drizzle and hastily moved the cart at a pace between running away and trying to look casual. Once out of eye sight he beat himself up for his dorky question. The weather? They were both standing outside while it sprinkled, they clearly knew how it was.</p><p>Today, he would get the chance at redemption as he slowly built himself up to just get a damn word out. He was normally so calm and cool when flirting, but a one Mr. Milkovich had reduced him to a bashful teenage boy again.</p><p>He walked up to the house, calling out a short ‘hey’ as he lifted the handful of mail with the letter addressed to Yevgeny on top. The short raven haired man had his cigarette lifted to his mouth, drawing in an inhale as his one eyebrow shot up. Ian found it endearing enough to push on.</p><p>“Um, your son asked me to let him know when he got a letter from your wife. Told me his name just in case.”</p><p>He wiggled the mail a little again as the other man lowered the cigarette and exhaled while speaking in a smoky voice that shot blood immediately to his lower regions. “Ain’t got a wife.”</p><p>Score one for Ian. He was clearly divorced since Svetlana shared his last name. He was also wrong about them potentially being from Russia too, since his accent was unmistakably urban American.</p><p>He jumped down each step, moving so effortlessly that he looked bored before reaching out to grab the mail from Ian. He held eyes with Ian for a second longer than he expected, from a straight man at least, before they darted down to the mail in his hand.</p><p>Ian wanted to say more, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. He could ask his name but it didn’t seem like the right time without earning a sneer from the man. He reluctantly started walking off before he heard a voice behind him.</p><p>“Gallagher, right?”</p><p>Ian stopped, shocked that this guy had known his name at all while Ian had spent months trying to figure out what <em>his</em> was. He turned around to see his mystery man watching him with those big blue eyes, same as from before. Up close, he could appreciate the color more and how full his lips were. Lips Ian desperately wanted to touch.</p><p>“Uh, yeah. Ian Gallagher,” he replied.</p><p>“Your brother used to write my papers for English class. Fucking good that did for me since I dropped out. Flip him off for me next time you see him.”</p><p>Before Ian could reply, he disappeared in the house, leaving Ian a bit stunned at the interaction.</p><p>Ian still hadn’t learned his first name.</p><p>**</p><p>He crashed on the Gallagher family couch after a sweaty hot day of work, ready to relax just as Debbie strutted into the room in an obvious rush, carrying Franny on her hip. “Ian, can you watch your wonderful sweet niece while I run some errands. Please? I have a job interview and I’m desperate.”</p><p>He internally groaned, as much as he loved watching Franny normally. She was basically an angel compared to the rest of their family but he was sweaty and gross and just wanted a nice cold shower instead. He was pretty sure the short amount of interaction with the Milkovich man was going to be the inspiration for a quick handjob while he was in there.</p><p>He knew Debbie struggled with being a single mom though, and was trying to still actively dig herself out of the hole she stubbornly dug her own self into before Franny was born. His family had always been close, though conceited and lost in their own problems often, but he felt obligated to sacrifice his cool down time for her. Franny really wasn’t that hard to watch. She was no Carl.</p><p>“Yeah sure, Debs. Hurry back though, early morning job remember?”</p><p>She squealed and plucked Franny off her hip before setting her down and baby talking them both. “Be good for Uncle Ian, Franny baby. Be good for Franny, Uncle Ian.”</p><p>She jolted out the door turning back for a wave in which Ian flipped her off half kidding, half serious for ruining his nightly plans of being left completely alone.<br/>
While sitting on the couch, watching rerun after rerun of What’s New, Scooby Doo to the delight of Franny who was still young enough to confuse Daphne for Debbie all because of their hair, Ian’s phone started buzzing in his back pocket. “Ian Gallagher, professional toddler watcher.”</p><p>He heard a soft chuckle before Lip spoke. “Ah, calling to let you know Fred is sitting on the sidewalk outside. Tami and I decided we didn’t want to raise him so consider yourself hired.”</p><p>As soon as Lip finished his sentence, a loud wail could be heard through the phone followed by a frustrated groan that sounded as if Tami might actually show up with Fred in a basket and a note pinned to him. “Bad day?”</p><p>“Yeah, Fred got some shots. Tami keeps us on track with that because apparently waiting until he's trying to get into college before getting informed about missing required ones is frowned upon with most parents. Not ours though,” Lip slightly snorted at the fact that Frank and Monica just let shit like that go. “Where’s Debbie?”</p><p>Ian used his shoulder to hold his phone up to his ear as he stretched his arms up and leaned them slightly behind him. “Job interview I guess.”</p><p>He heard another loud wail, followed by Tami huffing, “Look, I’m losing my shit here Fred. Please just take the tit.”</p><p>Ian did feel for Tami with how much she sounded perpetually at her wit’s end since Freddie’s birth, but ultimately couldn’t help teasing Lip. “Can’t say I blame the kid.”</p><p>Both of them cackled while Lip answered, “Yeah, well didn’t expect much else from you, you big ol’ cockhound.”</p><p>Ian chuckled softly before the joke sparked a question. “Hey, do you remember a Milkovich kid you use to write papers for?”</p><p>In the background he heard Tami and Fred until the sound of a door latching closed caused the noise to be muffled. Lip probably headed outside for a smoke. He struggled between trying to cut them out or switching to a vape but in the end, smoking was still the one vice he had. A bubble of pride welled up in him when he thought of how much Lip was working to better himself. They all were, but Lip and his great fall weren’t as much their fault as genetics.</p><p>There was a pause followed by Lip humming as if he was thinking before he spoke.”Milkovich? Mickey. Yeah. Whole family lived nearby. I fucked his sister a couple times during school, got my ass handed to me by him once.”</p><p>Mickey. His name was Mickey Milkovich. Just like the mouse.</p><p>Ian snorted at the admission. “He beat you up? Why didn’t I hear about that?”</p><p>He heard Lip speak, voice clouded by a lungful of smoke. “Eh, you did. Just not by name. Hit me with a pool stick a couple of times.” A memory flashed through Ian’s mind: Lip had looked like he was audiencing for the titular role of Carrie with how bloody his face had been. “Mandy said he dropped out of school, which is why we probably never saw him. What’s got you so curious?”</p><p>“His house is on my route. I guess he recognized me or something. Told me to flip you off next time I saw you.”</p><p>He huffed a laugh out. “Yep, sounds like him.” A sudden burst of noise on Lip’s end indicated that Tami had probably come outside looking for her boyfriend. Ian heard his brother speak away from the phone before his suspicions were confirmed. “Hey, look I got to go. We’re going to test out daycares. Apparently also letting whoever is slightly older watch him is another bad parenting example from Frank and Monica. Who knew?”</p><p>The two said their goodbyes, and Ian spent the rest of the night glued to the TV. He ended up staying up late watching Franny and bitterly waiting for Debbie’s return. She finally did after both he and Franny had fallen asleep slumped over on the couch, but he didn’t even have the energy to argue once he woke up. He slowly pulled himself up the stairs and into to his bed, barely bothering to even register Debbie’s sheepish smile.</p><p>**</p><p>The next morning, he managed to drag himself up and down the stairs, but just barely. The one object inspiring this little amount of willpower was knowing that a cup of coffee was at the other side of the Gallagher kitchen. He brewed a pot that he was sure the rest of the family would drain when they got up at a way more reasonable time of the day, even if it was cold by then. They’d definitely had worse growing up than just cold coffee.</p><p>He dragged his feet through the rest of his morning routine, catching the L while dozing off the whole time, his head rolling to the side before abruptly startling himself awake.</p><p>By the time he actually got into his mail car, he was still not exactly recuperated but was fully confident he wasn’t going to fall asleep again. Still, his eyes sported sleep deprived bags underneath and his movements were a bit sluggish. Damn it, Debbie. He was trying to be the big responsible brother that they all could rely on rather than the unmedicated manic person they’d had to deal with before, but he also couldn’t exactly sacrifice sleep like that anymore.</p><p>He heaved his heavy legs throughout his route. Open mailbox, stick mail in, repeat. Open mailbox, stick mail in, repeat.</p><p>He hoped she got the job at least, if that’s what she was even actually doing. He was beginning to doubt that with the slow return of his cognitive brain function.</p><p>“Yo, Sleeping Beauty. You hangin’ in there?”</p><p>Ian glanced up to see Mickey pushing a young Yevgeny out the door, school bag slung over one shoulder. Yev’s face lit up as he saw Ian, giving him a tiny wave. He didn’t even realize what house he’d somehow managed to make it to until he heard the voice. Mickey skipped effortlessly down the stairs again, a sight Ian wasn’t even sure why he was so attracted to, before reaching the gate Ian stood outside of.</p><p>He gawked, realizing he was both waiting for an answer and his mail. “Yeah, long night. Didn’t get much sleep,” he said as he reached down, shifting through the mail carrier bag before pulling out the stack that belonged to the Milkovich household and passing it over.</p><p>F-U-C-K U-U-P. Ian observed the faded ink of Mickey’s knuckles, reading the words he’d always been curious to see up close. Fuck him up, indeed. He wanted to reach and trace the letters, borderline obsessed at the thought of them.</p><p>“Girlfriend keep you up or something?” Mickey’s voice made him jerk his eyes away from his hands and into those deep blue orbs. He wanted to swim in those eyes, he thought. What was wrong with him today? He was completely hypnotized by this man in front of him.</p><p>“Don’t have a girlfriend,” Ian answered. Should he say he’s gay? Mickey would either not care or uphold the Milkovich image and pummel the shit out of him. Something about the man made Ian feel like the admission wouldn’t go as badly as he probably should expect.</p><p>“So what then, late night fuck?” Mickey lip curled up with disgust.</p><p>“Dad!” Yevgeny squeaked, “Mama said we can’t ask questions like that anymore.”</p><p>Mickey scoffed at his son, raising his hand to rub his eyebrow like he was exasperated by the comment. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t fucking tell her then, alright?”</p><p>“No, no. Nothing like that. Girls aren’t exactly my thing.”</p><p>Ian felt his comment cut the air. He watched the faces of both of the Milkoviches in front of him transform with emotion. Shock reflected between them before Yegeny’s face split with the happiest of grins. Mickey’s changed from the initial shock into an almost embarrassed but hard to read expression.</p><p>“Are you gay, Mr. Postman?” He could see the excitement in the kid’s eye. “Because my dad doesn’t like girls either! At least not to kiss and stuff.”</p><p>Now Mickey’s face held panic. He could recognize that look, the look of being outed but not on your own terms. It didn’t last though, replaced slowly with a deep red blush that he tried to disguise with his typical scowl as he turned towards his son. “Yev! The fuck. We’ve talked about this. Southside.”</p><p>Southside indeed. He could practically map out Mickey’s mindset just from the interaction. The Milkoviches were well known to be fagbashers, a fact that was one hundred percent the reason Ian avoided the lot of them. Clearly Mickey wasn’t the most comfortable with the being gay, but he must not be that ashamed if his son proudly knew about it. Must have taken a lot of courage to get to that point though. He had never known the Milkovich patriarch by name but had heard tales of his status in and out of jail for a list of reasons that included hate crimes among them.</p><p>Ian figured he should help calm the man down, not wanting to watch the internalized issues play out across his face as he still tried to look normal. “It’s fine. I’m a Gallagher, remember? Can’t exactly throw judgement at anyone after the city has had the unfortunate luck of dealing with Frank.” Mickey appeared to be cautious still but he watched him visibly relax. “Yeah, I’m gay.”</p><p>“See dad? It’s fine!” Yev exclaimed, at the same time Mickey decided to push Yevgeny out the fence.</p><p>“Look, we’re late. Chit chat time’s fucking over.” Yevgeny groaned as he started walking in the direction of the school. “Catch ya later Gallagher.”</p><p>**</p><p>A week went by with no sign of the Milkoviches, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t on at least one of their minds. The next shift after the incident consisted of his normal routine he could obviously do in his sleep after his last performance. He showed up outside the Milkovich house around 10 a.m. to deliver the mail and was met with the sweetest gesture.</p><p>A sloppily written sign was taped to the front of mostly rusted metal tin on the porch. In bright colorful crayon read ‘Yev and Mickeys gifs 4 postman Galager’ that was hazardously filled in with red as the background and messy yellow stars. The tin itself held mostly water, with just enough ice to let him know that it was once full of it in an attempt to keep the products inside cold. A bottle of iced Dunkin’ coffee bobbed around next to a floating snickers bar.</p><p>Upon closer inspection, Ian saw that Mickey had even written a small note at the bottom that said ‘I swear to fuck if you touch this and your name isn’t Ian, I’m breaking all your fucking fingers when I find out’.</p><p>Ian’s curious look morphed into the widest grin. He may have only known the man a short time, but he already felt fluent in Mickey. He knew his once mystery man wasn’t the type to defend just anyone. He’d spent months witnessing the relationship between Mickey and the people around him, though mostly his son, to know that if Mickey didn’t return his feelings he wouldn’t be helping his son prepare some Pinterest level shit for Ian. He wouldn’t have been blushing over Ian.</p><p>He was giddy knowing his blossoming feelings weren’t entirely one sided. With that knowledge, Ian scooped up his gifts and happily twisted the lid off his prized coffee before swallowing a still cold mouthful. The sentiment behind the gift left him feeling as awake as the caffeine buzz did.</p><p>The week after that passed by before Ian actually spotted either of the residents. If he hadn’t come to such a clear conclusion he would have been slowly losing his confidence at the absence. He realized that he missed the sight of the pair of them, that their little family was a perk of the job.</p><p>As soon as the house came into view, Ian spotted the dark hair. Everything in him wanted to toss his bag full of packages down on the ground and sprint to Mickey. To hold his scowling face between his hands before it softened just as Ian leaned down to kiss him.</p><p>But he didn’t, because he was an adult and this wasn’t a rom-com. He settled for the increasing joy in the pit of his stomach, the happiness that just wanted to shine from inside him. His face held a beaming smile that was all teeth. He’d been told it looked a bit psychotic in the past, but that’s how he felt as he opened each postbox to shove in mail before slamming it shut and moving on.</p><p>He arrived outside his grand destination in a record five minutes from the start of the street to the actual house, fast walking all while trying to appear cool and collected. He’d felt Mickey’s eyes on him the whole stretch of the street, but he couldn’t meet them back for fear he would abandon his post.</p><p>Finally reaching the fence, he looked into Mickey’s eyes before immediately blurting out, “Been a week.”</p><p>Mickey was leaning back on his porch, using his arms to rest on behind him, cigarette hanging from his mouth. “Ay, looks like you can read a calendar.”</p><p>His eyebrow quirked up, daring Ian to continue. So he did. “Missed you.”</p><p>Mickey reached his right hand up to his mouth, still using his left to lean back on as if he was casually in the middle of a photo shoot, before he breathed out a lungful of smoke, “Don’t even know me, Romeo.”</p><p>Ian gripped the fence between both hands, leaning forward like an eager kid. “Like to, though. Where you been?”</p><p>Mickey pushed off from the porch then, still holding the cigarette in one hand, pushing his other hand inside his pocket. “Dealing with the baby mama. You don’t even know if I like you back.”</p><p>Ian laughed at the line, seeing the slightest hitch in Mickey’s mouth. “Do too. Go on a date with me.”</p><p>“I don’t really date,” Mickey said, walking closer.</p><p>“Yeah well I don’t really do dads, well not anymore, but I’m willing to make an exception here.”</p><p>Mickey stopped right at the fence, gripped it with one hand, just barely touching Ian’s. He tossed his cigarette on the ground and ground it out with one foot. “Sound pretty damn sure there, Red.”</p><p>His head inched forward, hovering just over the fence. “I don’t think the kid spying at us out the window would let me take you on a date if I wasn’t.”</p><p>The reminder of Yevgeny caused Mickey to pull back, eyes flashing to the house before making contact with his son. Yevgeny disappeared at the realization he was caught, scrambling away from the window before his dad could yell at him. Mickey let out a sigh before a conflicted look crossed his face. Ian could tell that he still struggled with being out, so he allowed the man to grapple with his thoughts before he finally answered Ian’s question. “Fine, Gallagher. I’ll go on a fucking date with you.”</p><p>Ian’s smile grew from ear to ear. According to his family, he almost looked like an overly energetic puppy when he was that excited. He leaned towards Mickey before being stopped with a hand to his chest. “Don’t be such a fucking pussy. This ain’t The Notebook, man.”</p><p>Despite the action, he could tell Mickey didn’t mean it that rough. That he was just used to throwing up walls. Ian could work with that; he was going to take Mickey on the best damn date this side of Chicago and he was absolutely going to end the night like a damn rom-com when he finally captured Mickey’s lips between his.</p><p>Until then, he shouted at Mickey’s form retreating into the Milkovich home. “Next Saturday! Be ready at 9. I'll pick you up!”</p><p>He was met with a middle finger, but his smile only grew wider.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Apparently I need real set in stone dates to force myself to post (not even write! I have a lot written and just haven't gotten around to posting it) but thank god for Gallavich Week for that reason lol.</p><p>I've really considered adding a part two that covers their date....hmmm...... </p><p>Please like and comment :) </p><p>Find me on tumblr at <a href="http://milkymickeyway.tumblr.com/">MilkyMickeyWay</a><br/></p></blockquote></div></div>
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